The tears stop.
I cannot make out what the mark is, but my mind is clear. The burning sensation has a purpose and so do I – to discover who I am. Exhausted, I stumble back to bed and cocoon myself in the covers. I drift into dreamless sleep.
I wake to the sound of knocking. My neck is stiff from my curled-up sleeping position.
‘Princess, why is the door locked? Is everything all right?’
‘Sorry, Luce.’ I rub my eyes, forcing them to open. ‘I must have locked it last night.’
‘Do you mind letting me in?’
I panic, last night’s awakened memories flooding back. I am not ready to face myself, let alone anyone else. With a deep breath, I force myself to open the door. As Lucy enters, I am careful to conceal my left hand behind my back. She notices the shattered glass of the mirror and looks at me questioningly.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t see in the dark last night.’
‘Your father has requested a private dinner with you in his rooms this evening at six o’clock.’
I am surprised. My father hardly ever engages in private meals. He relishes every opportunity to socialise with large groups. ‘Oh, all right, of course. Thanks.’
‘Oh, Princess, you must be sick. Your diction this morning is terrible.’
I know she is right. I usually pride myself on my elocution.
‘I shall fetch some supplies to clean up the mess, Your Highness.’ She smiles conspiratorially. ‘And perhaps a nice cup of cocoa?’
‘Thank you, Lucy.’ I smile at her to ease her worry. From her furrowed brow, I don’t think it helps.
Once she leaves I start pacing the room, retracing my steps from the night before. At the window, I reach out and open the drapes. The morning is peaceful and still, just as it was yesterday, before my entire world changed. I close the drapes again, not wanting to let the world in.
In the shower I try to soap away the mark, but my scrubbing is in vain. Faint lines intertwine, almost as if they are part of a picture. On either side of the parallel lines are two oval-shaped rings. In the middle, the mark is darker, like it is filling itself in. I cannot make out what it represents, but I know it doesn’t belong there.
I crawl back into bed. Lucy returns to clean up the mess, placing a cup of hot cocoa on my bedside table. A small line of sunlight invades through a crack in the drapes. A reminder to me that the outside world awaits. My mind, clustered with thoughts, drifts back to sleep.
I wake to see Lucy at the end of my bed. The line of sunshine has almost crept across the floor to the door, reminding me that time is definitely moving.
‘You have slept all day, Your Highness,’ she says. ‘You did not even drink your cocoa! It is almost time for dinner with your father.’
Lucy has hung a teal-green satin dress across my dressing table chair. It has elbow-length sleeves which won’t cover my mark. I slide out of bed, my arm pressed to my side.
‘Are you well, Your Highness?’
‘Yes, I’m absolutely fine. I just . . . It seems a little chilly. Perhaps a dress with longer sleeves?’
I search my wardrobe for another dress, Lucy hovering behind me. I find a long black, pleated skirt and a white, long-sleeve blouse with a jewelled collar. The sleeves button nicely over the faint lines.
I sit on the dressing table chair and Lucy pins up my hair. ‘You know, Your Highness, after this terrible time you have had, I do believe it is time for a revitalising beauty treatment,’ she says, smiling at me in the mirror.
‘I am not sure . . .’ I say, wanly returning her smile. Every two weeks Lucy and I spend the morning in my bathroom where Lucy applies a moisturising hair masque and a special salt scrub to my face. Sometimes even Tahan joins us. It is usually enjoyable, relaxing for a few hours, but I have so much on my mind that beauty treatments seem extremely trivial.
‘It is just what you need, Princess,’ she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror as she places the last pin. ‘In three days, shall we say? There, all done.’ She looks over at my clock. ‘And look, dressed and ready before time. Shall we go now?’ she asks. ‘It is better to be early than late, Your Highness.’
During the walk to my father’s quarters on the thirteenth floor, my curiosity builds as to why he wants to see me privately. As we step into his foyer, however, all I feel is dread. We walk into the sitting area and Lucy insists I sit on one of the two white-velvet lounges, plumping a red cushion behind my back.
Lucy leaves and I am left to stare at the walls, crammed with Cardiff family portraits and battle scenes. To the left is an archway that leads into a small dining area – the table immaculate, set for two. To the right is my father’s study.
The door swings open slightly – the catch has been broken for weeks – and I hear my father’s stern voice. ‘We must be careful, Corbin.’
I get up and tiptoe closer to the door.
‘But, Duncan, we simply cannot afford to lose any more time. The Chamber is there to be used.’ I do not recognise this other voice, it is raspy and drawn out.
‘I will not argue with you further, Corbin. I have told you, we must wait until the time is right. The serum must be perfected before we test it. I will not have her harmed or her suspicions raised because you cannot keep your desperation in check.’
The raspy man says imploringly, ‘But what if she’s already–’
‘Enough! I tire of this conversation, and my daughter is expected any minute.’ I hurry back towards the entrance, careful not to make a sound. The study opens just as I reach the foyer and I walk into the sitting area, trying to appear casual.
The unknown man is gangly, his greying, black hair slicked into a ponytail. He stares at me with wide black eyes that are blacker than the shadows that lurk in my dream-nightmares.
‘Darling! Good evening.’ My father steps forward to kiss me and I feel the day’s growth of his beard prickling my cheek. ‘I do not believe you have met Mr Corbin, one of our scientists at the Jasper Institute.’
Mr Corbin extends his hand, his eyes not leaving me. I reach my hand forward with a sense of unease. His long fingers grasp my palm. The handshake lasts too long, and I firmly withdraw my hand.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Corbin.’
He looks at me with interest. ‘Oh, but we have met, Princess, and I’ve been dying to see you all grown up.’ Without the barrier of a door, his voice is more gravelly, every word enunciated with precision.
‘We have met before?’
‘Oh, yes. I was by your side directly after your accident, helping you heal, trying to recover your memories. I knew how much Duncan wanted you to be his perfect princess.’
My father gestures towards the entrance. ‘I would ask you to stay, Corbin, but I have promised my daughter a nice, quiet dinner with her father tonight.’
‘Of course, Duncan. I will speak with you tomorrow about the serum.’ He turns to me. ‘Goodbye, Your Highness.’
‘Goodbye.’
I walk into the dining area, taking a seat on one of the four cushioned chairs. The deep richness of the mahogany table is imprinted with an emerald cross and I slide my finger along the cross as I do every time I eat at this table.
My father sits at the head of the table. ‘I hear you were not feeling well today, darling. Is all well?’
‘Yes, Father. I was exhausted from the events of yesterday.’ This is not a complete lie.
‘Naturally you were. Speaking of yesterday, there are a few things I should like to clarify.’
And so the private dinner has a reason. I look at him expectantly, trying to appear willing.
‘Can you tell me more about the two young men who snatched you?’
‘There isn’t much to tell.’ He doesn’t pull me up on my use of a contraction. ‘As I said yesterday, everything happened so quickly that I–’
‘Perhaps now that you have had a chance to sleep, something may have occurred to you. Did they look familiar?’
Why is he asking me that? Does
he know? He looks at me intently, waiting for my answer; my lie must be believable. ‘No, not as such.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’re acting strange, Father. Should I know them?’
‘No, of course you should not.’ He takes a sip from the wine glass before him.
I notice I have plain water.
‘It is . . . those boys are part of the group that attacked you and your mother during the battle with the North Empire.’
I search my mind for clues, memories. I can’t place my mother in the nightmares.
‘I . . . really?’
‘Yes.’ He pats my hand. ‘I know you have always had a sneaking sympathy for Manipulators, thinking they deserve our pity. And I did not wish to shatter your illusions. However, you are old enough, and now strong enough in mind, to know the truth. It was Manipulators who killed your mother and caused your seizures.’
Grief washes over me. That must be what my dream-nightmare is about – the night my mother died. I have been dreaming of the night my mother died for years without realising. It explains why Eli and Jay were there. ‘Thank you for being honest.’
‘Of course, darling.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Apart from feeling tired, are you well? No seizures or any strange feelings?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Are you sure? Perhaps your skin was irritated by Vaulting?’
I tug my left cuff. I imagine the mark burning its way through my sleeve to reveal my lies. ‘No, Father, I am whole and well.’ I tell myself that mark is nothing to worry about – my wrist has always bothered me.
‘I am glad you are doing well. And now, time to eat.’ He gets up from the table and issues orders to the kitchen from the radio-transceiver mounted on the wall. ‘Now, about Finn,’ he continues as he sits down.
‘Father, please.’
‘Ruling is not easy, Althea. You will need someone able by your side.’
‘You’re alone.’ My bluntness is caused by my defensiveness.
‘You are, Althea. And that is different. I had your mother, and I am a man. The people already see me as a strong leader.’
‘I do not need a man to be queen, nor do I need one to be me.’
‘Althea, Finn is a lovely–’
‘I know, Father. But loveliness does not equal love.’ My words take me by surprise. I’ve never thought of not being with Finn. It was always assumed by his mother and my father that we would be together forever. Finn is lovely, and I assumed the same. But now I am not sure. Something feels different. I feel different.
‘Althea–’ Thankfully Father cuts his sentence short as two servants enter, bringing in our meal of roast lamb and green vegetables.
I stuff a piece of lamb in my mouth, forcing back any unwise words that might escape me. My father picks up his cutlery but does not start his meal. From the corner of my eye I see him looking at me speculatively. I am determined to ignore him. I will not have him or anyone else dictate this part of my life – whom I will love.
After a few minutes of silence, I say, ‘Forgive me, Father, but I overheard you talking with Mr Corbin about the serum. Can you tell me about it?’
‘The serum is there to protect you, to protect us all,’ he says shortly.
I think for a moment. There is so much I would like to know. ‘What does it do exactly?’
‘We are still working out the particulars, but we hope it will be used to nullify the Manipulators’ powers.’
The thought of being able to stop the Manipulators’ powers excites and scares me. ‘How does the serum nullify their terrible powers?’
My father chuckles, unusual for him. ‘It is all very complicated, Althea. When the serum is developed further, I will be able to explain it better to you. I am pleased you are showing an interest.’
‘Perhaps I might shadow you one day soon. I could learn more about the day-to-day activities of ruling.’
‘That is a wonderful idea, darling.’ He smiles and I smile gently back.
I am still trying to process all the confusion of my memory-dream but I am glad I have my father. He may frustrate me at times but I know he only wants the best for me and to protect me.
After dinner we move to the sitting room and Father calls down for tea. ‘Father, tell me more about the night of my accident.’
‘Althea, darling, I do not think it is quite right for you to–’
‘I am old enough now, as you said. Please, I must know,’ I implore.
He nods slowly, debating whether or not to say anything. ‘Althea, one of the reasons I do not speak about your accident is because it is so very painful for me. I lost the love of my life.’ He pauses. ‘And, almost, you.’
‘I know it is hard for you, Father, but now that I know my dreams hold memories from that night, I need your help to decrypt them.’
‘Dreams? What dreams?’ he says anxiously.
‘I’ve always had dreams about those two boys, the two Manipulators who kidnapped me. Now I know the dream is a memory from the night Mother died.’
His back straightens and his jaw tenses. ‘Althea, it is imperative you tell me for how long you have been having these dreams.’
‘For as long as I can remember.’ He starts clicking his jaw and rubbing the scar on his hand. I have never seen him so agitated. ‘Father, what’s wrong?’
He gets up and starts pacing. ‘What is, Althea, what is. Stop contracting your words!’
I am frightened by his sudden anger. Surely it’s not just about contractions? ‘Father, I–’ I stop talking as his eyes dart to my left wrist. I stand and hold my hands behind my back. ‘Why are you so upset, Father?’
‘I am not. I apologise. It is only that I have remembered important business I must attend to.’ He strides into his study and shuts the door.
I am left standing in the middle of the sitting room, stunned. During dinner, I was happy that Father was open with me. But after I mentioned my recurring dream-nightmare . . . He was looking at my wrist, fortunately now hidden by my blouse.
My father knows something.
I wake early, feeling refreshed and clear. The mark on my wrist is almost gone, the lines seemingly sinking into my skin. I am energised by the revelation that my father knows more than he is telling me about the night my mother died, the night I lost my memory. I need to figure out what he knows. But how? It’s hard to snoop when sentinels are everywhere.
I pace my room, treading a well-worn route. Francis. Although he is my personal sentinel, he is also my friend. He has been a sentinel for many years and may know about the battle with the North that claimed my mother, and about Manipulators. But would he tell me anything? And should I risk asking him?
I make my way down to the foyer but Francis is not there. His practice is to wait for me in the elm chair in the corner, reading. A servant bows her head as she passes me on her way to the servants’ quarters, which take up most of the ground floor.
I go over to the sentinel station. ‘Good morning, Jeresh, where is Francis?’
Jeresh, head sentinel at Casteel, looks up from his card game. ‘Sorry, Your Highness, I thought you would have been told. Francis has been relegated to guarding the cells after the incident the other day.’
My eyes open wide at this. ‘Pardon me? Why?’
‘King Duncan feels – and I tend to agree with him – that Francis should have extracted you from the situation before it escalated. He didn’t use proper judgement and his incompetence almost had dire consequences.’
‘But there were no “dire consequences”! I am fine, as you can see!’ I feel the ghost of the mark prickle.
‘Yes, Your Highness, and we are all thankful. But nonetheless, Francis put you in jeopardy and we can’t have that.’
‘He did nothing wrong! He tried his best, but how could he possibly have stopped the Manipulators?’ My voice rises with each word and I can see the sentinels guarding the large blackwood-timber doors have turned to look at me.
‘In the meantime
, Harries will be your personal sentinel.’ As if on cue, Harries emerges from the door behind Jeresh.
‘But Harries is one of Father’s sentinels.’
‘That’s why it’s best that he become your sentinel for the time being.’
I am too furious to argue anymore. I turn on my heel and march through the grand oak doors into the square. Harries is quick to fall in line behind me.
I make my way to Dominion Hall, which houses the delegates’ offices. The paving of the even sett footpath is hard against the soles of my ankle boots. Father may not permit me to ask about my past, but I can ask him about Francis. No, not ask, demand that he stop punishing Francis for something that isn’t his fault by making him guard the prisoners in the cells and allow him to return to his duties as my personal sentinel.
At the top of the steps, Harries steps in front of me before we enter the wall-length glass doors to Dominion Hall. ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, but your father has a busy day. You will not be able to see him.’
My angry response dies when the doors open, revealing Mr Corbin, the scientist from last night. He bows. ‘Princess Althea, so nice to see you again.’
I smile briefly. ‘Good morning, Mr Corbin.’
His black eyes hold mine as he bows. ‘Apologies but I must be off. I have important work to attend to.’
As Mr Corbin walks away, I turn to Harries. ‘If I cannot see my father, I want to see Francis.’
‘Again, I apologise, Your Highness, but that’s not possible.’ Harries looks down at me.
‘I don’t care what is and is not possible, I wish to see him.’
‘And your father wishes you to keep your distance.’ He crosses his thick arms. ‘Tell me, which of these wishes do you think I am more likely to grant?’
I turn from Dominion Hall, looking over my shoulder at Harries. ‘If I had known you were a genie granting wishes, I would have asked for something wonderful.’ I turn back and stomp down the stairs. ‘Like freedom,’ I mutter.
Time Catcher Page 5
